It was Mic who helped Kana sling his rifle and shoulder his pack, guiding him back to the busy camp. The gear they had discarded the night before was being built, under Bogate's orders, into a wall of supplies stretching from one lamp line to another. Except for the men working to erect that barrier the Combatants were lining up to the west, facing the mountains.
"Done, sir!" Bogate saluted Hansu. Five of the Terrans were stationed at intervals along the discarded baggage, and each cradled in his hand one of the fire cartridges.
"Ready with those beasts?" demanded Hansu.
The squad which had herded the pack guen to the far side of the camp shouted an affirmative.
"Men" — Hansu wheeled to face the teams "you all know what has happened. If the faith be broke, then so is the contract which bound us. Yorke and the others were murdered, shot down from behind by flamers. Mills lived long enough to warn us. You know that it is not superior numbers, or strength of arms, that wins a war. The side which goes in with the will to victory has the advantage. When we march out of here we have to cross a hostile planet. Every native may be ranged against us. But unless we can reach Tharc we have very little chance. Remember this — our lives are at stake, yes. But the Combatant whose single aim is to keep alive usually dies in the first charge. To die is our common lot, no man escapes that. But if we die in the tradition of the Hordes — that is a good ending for any of us.
"They believe that they have us walled in, that we cannot break out of their cage of mountains, river and troops. But we shall show them that they dare not underestimate a Swordsman. With this fire to cover our tracks we shall head west — into the mountains. Before the death of Skura they told us that the mountains were to be feared, that the natives there have never submitted to the Gatanu's rule and are dangerous. If that is so we may find allies — at least we shall be headed in the right direction. Whoever wants to keep alive must aim at victory. It is the winners who kill and the losers who are killed!"
The Horde greeted that statement with a cheer as Hansu signaled the men by the barrier. Squalling guen were sent running wild toward the Llor who milled around beyond the boundaries of the camp. And the Fronnian troopers were forced to scatter before the loose animals, trying to head them away from their own lines. But the guen, with the diabolical tempers of their kind, attacked the cavalry mounts whenever they came in contact.
Falling into "hostile country" order the Horde moved out. Puffs of flame blossomed along the wall of abandoned supplies, providing a thick smoke to hide their going. And the heat of the fire would keep back the Llor for some time.
The Terran line of march followed the river where there was little cover. And within half a mile the stream sank deeper as outcrops of black and white rock grew more frequent. Kana took his turn at hauling the small carts which transported such of the general supplies as they had to have. There were two of these and the material they carried might mean the difference between life and death for the men they rolled among.
It was close to twilight when Kana released his hold to a relief and, rubbing his rope-chafed hands, fell back into line. So far Hansu had given no orders to camp. They ate as they marched, hard rations, and sipped the water from their canteens. There had been no signs of pursuit. But the Blademaster evidently intended to put as many miles between them and their last camp as was humanly possible.
The river stopped them for the second time. Sunk now in a deep gorge, it sliced across their route. They would either have to cross or turn back. In the last dwindling light of day they made camp, taking advantage of the rough ground to conceal their bed rolls. It was then that Kana was summoned to report to Hansu.
"You were down to the stream edge back there. Current bad?"
"Slick and fast, sir. And I think deep too. It must be even deeper here."
"Hmm — " Hansu dropped to his knees and wriggled forward to the rim of the drop. He brought out a pocket flash and lowered it by a cord into the depths, revealing the surface of the cliff as it descended.
The river had cut that gorge, and at times it must have been a wider and stronger stream, for it left in its passage a series of ledges — a giant's staircase, marking the stages of its sinking. Not very wide and unfortunately far apart — they were still ledges and so promised a means of winning down to the water. The light oscillated above the racing flood and the vicious fangs of boulders made up rapids which choked half its bed. Landslides had partially dammed the stream, leaving a residue in stones too big for the water to tear away. To try to swim that would be asking for a smashed and broken body. And the light's rays were too limited to show what awaited on the other side. Hansu coiled the rope, loop by loop, bringing up the light.
"We'll have to wait for daylight," he said impatiently. "A Galactic Agent — you are sure Mills said that?"
Kana could only repeat what he had been told. Then he added: "The Llor are confident, sir — a lot too confident. Wouldn't they have to be pretty sure of their backing before they turned on us?"
Hansu made a sound which had little in common with real laughter. "Oh, yes, we have reputations. But then they must have advisers to whom such reputations are merely amusing. The Llor are fighting men and if the advantages appear to lie on their side, they are going to do just as they please. Skura murdered his enemies even under the parley flag, this will be more of the same. Maybe it's all an old Fronnian custom. However" — his lips drew back in what was close to a lion's snarl "they had better not make too many bright plans for the future — even acting under C.C. advice!"
"What do you know about the Cos?" the Blademaster demanded a minute later, snapping Kana out of some dark thoughts.
"They are mountain natives, aren't they, sir? There wasn't much about them in the pak on Fronn. I got the impression that they're not of the same race as the Llor and that they are deadly enemies of the plains dwellers. But they aren't Venturi either."
"They're a pygmy race — at least the Llor consider them so. And they are deadly — to anyone who tries to invade their territory. Use poison darts and mantraps. But whether we're headed into Cos country now, I don't know. And their quarrel may be only with the Llor — there's always that hope. Anyway, we have no choice but to advance. And now you're going to work, Karr."
"Yes, sir?"
"You're attached as Alien Liaison man from now on. Figure out what you need for a `first contact pack' and get it together tonight. We'll have no time in the morning and you must have the kit ready to use. Bogate!"
The veteran, a black blot in the deepening night, moved up.
"You take scout tomorrow. Karr here will be the AL man for your party."
"Yes, sir." There was no indication that Zapan Bogate had ever seen Kana before. "How many men?"
"Not more than ten. Wide scout — hostile country. I want a con job all the way — "
"Yes, sir! Con it is!"
The feeble illumination in the camp came from hand flashes muffled in spider silk. But it was enough to guide Kana to his place with Mic and Rey. He hunched down, drawing his one blanket about his shoulders, and tried to think coherently. As AL man with the advance scouts tomorrow he would have to have some kind of a trade kit — trade was always the easiest form of contact with unknown tribes. But he knew so little about the Cos — pygmies, perpetual enemies of the Llor, addicted to poison darts and mantraps to keep their mountain territory sacrosanct. The common offerings — food — adornment. This problem should have been foreseen before they burned the excess baggage. If the Combatants had obeyed orders they had already stripped themselves of the very things he would need.